


Yes, Please

by dracoqueen22



Series: Master and Commander [7]
Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM themes, Bondage, Collars and leashes, Dom/sub, Ficlet Collection, M/M, Overload Delay/Denial, Painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 06:00:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9421643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: All the ways Jazz loves to bend to his master's whims, and all the ways Bluestreak loves to care for his pet, as they both struggle to survive a never-ending war.A collection of shorter, ficlet length pieces depicting the relationship between Bluestreak and Jazz, often times with Ratchet as an added bonus.





	1. Savor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz whimpered. Jazz yearned. And yet, Master kept him on the edge.

Jazz didn’t know which was worse: the ring snuggled around the base of his spike, the thick vibrator buzzing merrily in his valve, or the relentless onslaught of Master’s mouth on his exterior node.

Jazz moaned and thrashed in the chains which kept him bound to the berth. He couldn’t lower his arms, couldn’t bring his thighs together, couldn’t do anything but whine as pleasure assaulted him from all directions.

Master pressed Jazz’s nub between his denta, biting hard enough for a jagged lance of pain to radiate beautifully through Jazz’s sensornet.

Jazz’s backstrut arched. “S-s- _sir!_ ”

Master chuckled, vibrations and heat rolling over the swollen fold of Jazz’s valve, making him quiver.

“Remember, pet. You are not to overload.”

A whine rose in Jazz’s intake. He trembled, his vents wheezing from the effort of holding back. The vibrator continued buzzing, exciting all of his internal nodes.

“Yesssss, s-s-sir.” His vocalizer glitched.

Master’s glossa swept over him, from the caudal lip of his valve, and ending with a flick to his node.

Jazz _writhed,_ his head tossing back in a soundless scream. Fire surged through his frame, an inferno taking residence in his array. He burned and it took all he had to not give in to the overload.

His spike pulsed, throbbing around the ring. Lubricant gushed from his valve, and Master made a humming noise of delight. Of approval.

Master was... Master was happy.

Jazz whimpered. His vents roared. His valve _yearned_. He wanted Master inside him now.

“Master!”

“Not yet.” Master nuzzled his valve, lips caressing the swollen pleat lovingly. “I intend to savor you all night.”

Jazz sobbed.

But not once did he ask Bluestreak to stop.

 


	2. Extended Service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bluestreak indulges; Jazz enjoys.

“Mmm, good boy,” Bluestreak praised, twisting the length of the leash around his hand and pulling Jazz tighter against his array.

Jazz moaned, the vibrations buzzing against Bluestreak’s rim. He pushed his glossa deeper, his denta scraping over Bluestreak’s anterior node.

Bluestreak shivered, his thighs tightening around his pet’s helm. “Keep this up and you might earn that overload, pet,” he murmured. One hand smoothed over the top of Jazz’s helm, his thumb playing with a sensory horn.

Jazz’s face was coated in lubricant, his visor smeared with it. Yet, that didn’t stop him from servicing Bluestreak’s valve, his glossa pushing deep, his lips nudging Bluestreak’s exterior nodes.

Jazz said nothing. He knew better to speak without being invited, but another hum of pleasure rose in his intake as he buried his face against Bluestreak’s array again. His field rose in the air, thick with rapture.

“Very good,” Bluestreak murmured, stroking Jazz’s helm again. “Now the main node, pet. I want to feel your denta.”

Jazz shuddered, his armor twitching, before lips and mouth descended on Bluestreak’s nub and started to suck.

Bluestreak’s back arched. His thighs trembled. Bluestreak grinned and leaned back, soaking up the sensation. There was nothing quite like an extended service session.

He shifted his leg, the back of his foot pressing against Jazz’s backstrut, pinning his pet in place. Jazz shuddered, his field lashing with need.

Yep. Nothing like it at all.


	3. An Enticing Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz invites himself into Ratchet’s lap and makes an offer on behalf of his Master.

It wasn’t often that Ratchet found himself with a sudden lapful of Jazz. But when there was a party involved, the potential was there.

So when Jazz dropped down into Ratchet’s lap, looped his arms over Ratchet’s shoulders, and scooted so close they shared ventilating space, Ratchet wasn’t surprised.

Except for the part where Jazz was both trembling -- minute though it was -- and radiating heat like a furnace. His visor was bright, his field open and needy, and he offered Ratchet a lop-sided grin.

“Can I help you?” Ratchet asked, firmly telling his spike to heel, though it leapt eagerly at his panel.

Jazz was very, very attractive. What could he say?

“I hope so.” Jazz laughed playfully -- Ratchet knew an act when he saw one -- and leaned in closer, his hips rolling until Ratchet could feel the scorching heat of his array.

Jazz’s lips brushed over Ratchet’s audial as he whispered, “Master said to tell you that I’m stuffed full and if you ping him, he’ll give you the key to play, too.”

“Is that so?” Ratchet’s spark thrummed with heat.

He lifted his orbital ridges and looked over Jazz’s shoulder, seeking Bluestreak through the crowd of Autobots having a grand-old time. There the Praxian sniper was, by the goodie table, seemingly deep in conversation with Smokescreen and Sideswipe. Yet, he noticed Ratchet looking, offering both a grin and a wink.

Well, then.

“Yeah.” Jazz squirmed rather enticingly. “He said -- nnngh -- he said I don’t get to overload unless -- ahh -- unless I can be good and convincing.” Little breathy ex-vents ghosted over Ratchet’s audial.

Enticing little sneak.

“Mmm. Did he now?” Ratchet feigned disinterest with all the mastery he had over his own frame. “And if you can’t convince me?”

Jazz’s engine whined. He pulled back, glossa sweeping over his lips, wetting them. A telltale dampness dripped onto Ratchet’s thighs.

“He didn’t say,” Jazz said with a groan.

“Didn’t think to ask, did you?” Ratchet grinned with a touch of devilish glee. “Think you’re that irresistible, hm?”

The question was a trap, and Jazz knew it.

He rolled his hips again, rightfully ignoring it. “I can be pretty fun to play with though,” he said.

Ratchet took a dismissive sip of his energon, doing a fine job of pretending to ignore the tasty dish straddling his thighs. “Maybe I’m not in the mood.”

Jazz’s engine whined. His field flared, thick and heavy with need. He twisted to look over his shoulder at Bluestreak, mouth drooped into a moue.

Bluestreak’s orbital ridges lifted. He twirled a finger as though telling Jazz to get back to work, before his attention drifted back to the conversation with his friends.

Jazz moaned in dismay. He sucked on his bottom lip. He leaked a little more, hands clenching where they rested on Ratchet’s shoulder.

“I’ll beg if ya want,” Jazz said, pleading now, his hips rocking and rolling to the beat of the music pouring from the speakers.

“ _If_ ,” Ratchet echoed.

“Ahhngh, you two are Unicron spawn,” Jazz muttered subvocally before he rolled forward, grinding his array against Ratchet’s belly. “ _Please_.”

“Mmm.” Ratchet paused for effect, taking another sip of his high grade. “No.”

Jazz groaned. He cast a dismayed look over his shoulder, and Bluestreak shook his head as if disappointed. His doorwings twitched upward and then drifted slowly down -- a silent command.

Jazz sighed and started to scoot back.

Ratchet finished off his high grade and dispersed the cube with a flick of his fingers. His free hand curled around Jazz’s hip, cupping that delightful aft.

“Unless,” he said with a firm tap, “we move this somewhere a bit more private.”

Ratchet looked past Jazz’s shoulder, catching Bluestreak’s gaze. The sniper grinned and tipped his helm. Agreement. As was the ping to Ratchet’s comm.

Invitation extended. Invitation accepted. _Perfect_.

Jazz’s hips danced. “Never knew you were shy,” he purred, heedless to the conversation going on over his head.

“Hardly.” Ratchet gave Jazz’s aft another pat. “But as much as I’d love to make you lick up this mess you’ve made on me, no one here’s consented to a free show.”

Jazz’s tires wiggled. “F-fair point,” he stammered and rolled his hips again, leaving a streak of lubricant on Ratchet’s thighs. “Let’s go, Ratch. I’m about ta burst.”

Ratchet grinned and bopped Jazz’s nasal ridge. “Ah, ah,” he chastised, letting a low growl infect his vocal tones, one that tended to make all naughty subs weak in the knees.

“Tonight, you’ll call me ‘sir.’”

 


	4. The Greatest Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enticements: Sticky Sex, BDSM themes, Self-service, Voyeurism  
> Description: Jazz can’t remember the last time he saw something so enticing.

Jazz can’t remember the last time he saw something so enticing.

He’d snuck into Bluestreak’s room intending to surprise his partner. He never expected to stumble on a show.

He creeps in, whisper quiet, and barely vents as he watches. Not that he thinks Bluestreak will notice. His lover is too far gone, gasping and shivering as he rides the false spike braced on the berth beneath him, while he furiously pumps his own spike.

Bluestreak’s optics are shuttered, and his doorwings twitch as his hips move, sinking down on the spike and making little circles with each deep roll. He’s dribbling fluids all over the berth as he moans and gnaws on his bottom lip.

Jazz’s mouth waters. Bluestreak’s spike is seeping pre-fluid, and it’s slicking his fingers. His biolights pulse fitfully, a sure sign that he’s approaching overload. Every now and again, Jazz catches a glimpse of his anterior node, all swollen and bright.

It takes all Jazz has to merely watch while Bluestreak is so eager and enticing. Jazz wants to throw himself across the room and finish Bluestreak off himself.

He swallows down a moan as Bluestreak’s engine reaches a higher pitch, and he thrusts into his hand. As he gasps and hunches forward, free hand clawing at the berth. His spike spurts, his hips make aborted forward thrusts, and his vents clatter. No doubt his valve is rippling around the toy.

Jazz’s knees wobble. His frame flushes with heat.

Bluestreak’s pants are barely audible over his purring engine. His spike dribbles on the berth, leaving a mess Jazz wants to lick up.

“Did you enjoy the show?”

Jazz startles. Surely Bluestreak doesn’t--

Doorwings flick up and back. “I know you’re there, pet.” Blue’s optics unshutter and shift unerringly Jazz’s direction. “Don’t make me come after you.” He fondles his spike, a loose fist stroking himself from root to tip.

Jazz licks his lips.

“If you come out, I’ll let you clean me up,” Bluestreak promises as he thumbs the head of his spike, playing in the fluids gathered there. “And I won’t even punish you for failing to ask permission.”

Jazz’s engine turns over with a low rumble.

Bluestreak smirks and the sight of it does things to him. Things that make it impossible for Jazz to disobey.

Game. Set. Match.

“Ya promise?” he asks as he eases out of the shadows, heat lazily pumping through his lines.

“Cross my spark.” Bluestreak leans back onto his heels, enough that Jazz can see the lubricant seeping out around the false spike still in his valve. “Welcome back, Jazz.”

He licks his lips again.

Primus but it’s good to be home.  


**Author's Note:**

> Gonna go ahead and mark this as complete, but if I do get any more random ideas, I'll still put them here. Thanks for reading!


End file.
